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<title>Walk in Your Rainbow Paradise by TheOceanIsMyInkwell</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23087569">Walk in Your Rainbow Paradise</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOceanIsMyInkwell/pseuds/TheOceanIsMyInkwell'>TheOceanIsMyInkwell</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff and Humor, Honeymoon, Inappropriate Humor, Nonbinary Character, Other, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trans Male Character, i wanted to cry writing this, this is so disgustingly sweet y'all are gonna wish you had this</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:46:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,286</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23087569</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOceanIsMyInkwell/pseuds/TheOceanIsMyInkwell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You boop me again in the elbow with a toe. “<i>Plans</i>, please.”</p><p>“Pet shopping was definitely on the list for this week. Maybe just not today,” I muse. “I didn’t want a super strict schedule for later. Just...general airy...ideas? Vague concepts? Of where we’re going?”</p><p>“Great,” you say. “That is wonderful. I hope you don’t drive and navigate with the same specificity that you plan our dates.”</p><p>I end up plating up our breakfast one-handed at that point because my other hand is occupied flipping you the bird.<br/>--<br/>Just a trans guy and a queer queen planning out their honeymoon and being sappy gay disasters while they're at it. Because being newlyweds doesn't change anything.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Walk in Your Rainbow Paradise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Nayani+Narayan">Nayani Narayan</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Alternatively titled "The Gay Barometer" but it didn't look as good on the artsy photoshop cover. Rest assured, however, that in my heart that is the true and only title.</p><p>Dedicated to my beautiful, captivating, Amazon-level-stunning, wickedly smart fiancée Nayani, who is celebrating their 20th birthday this week. It also happens to be the second anniversary of our engagement. I hope this lived up to your (very sappy) (very gay) expectations, my dear angel.</p><p>Title inspiration: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iquhBgM-Qv0">"Adore You" by Harry Styles</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sun yawns and the day begins on the dawn of us, slowly, gently, as it always does.</p><p>It begins with one of us rousing earlier than the other. More often than not it’s me, because you know I have that knack for only sleeping five hours or fourteen, and there is no in between. There are forehead kisses and little puffs of breath of acknowledgment as you roll over in my arms in the middle of your nameless dream. There are tangled sheets, a stumble on the carpet, a creak of the door as I rub my eyes on my way to the kitchen.</p><p>It begins with you standing some feet behind me at the island and me pretending to be absorbed with the bubble and pop of the omelet in the pan in front of me. You play this game--we play this game--and we do it knowingly, because there’s little else like the sigh of comfort and grace that escapes us as one of us embraces the other from behind and we know with the tiniest hint of finality that this is real.</p><p>This time, I’m the one who giggles at the flick of your ringed finger over my chest. “It’s cold,” I complain.</p><p>“Exactly,” you laugh into my ear. You keep your right arm wrapped around my waist, squeezing just a tad, and you bring your left hand up to my eye level and wiggle your fingers in just the same way I know you’re wagging your brows behind me.</p><p>“It’s kinda criminal how many rings I’ve given you over the course of this relationship,” I grouse, then add: “Mrs. Barrie.”</p><p>Hair rasps across the skin of my back and settles there, ticklish, warm, just like the huff you let out in reply. “Mm. I sound like some rich, eccentric author’s wife.”</p><p>I prod the omelet with a pensive hum. “You mean you’re the eccentric author and he’s the rich dollophead you ghost-write stories for because it’s, like, nineteenth-century Europe, people are narrow-minded as fuck and all you write about is just, like, your thinly veiled fantasy of running away with your best friend who reads books and sword fights with you and is definitely queer.”</p><p>“I stopped listening about halfway after ‘nineteenth-century Europe’ because I haven’t had my morning coffee yet,” you mumble into my back, this time squeezing me around the waist with both arms. “But your voice is nice. Mm. Especially when it does the little crack on the gay parts. That’s when I know you’re talking gay shit. You’re my gay shit meter. Seismo--seismograph? Is that what they’re…? I was pretty sure…”</p><p>“Barometer,” I offer helpfully. Innocently. I flip the egg.</p><p>“That,” you mutter back. “Sometimes I wish you wouldn’t lose the cracks in your voice.”</p><p>I roll my eyes at the cabinets. “Sure. So you can tell everybody you’re married to a prepubescent boy.”</p><p>“Exactly,” you rejoin, sharp as a knife and quicker than ever. “That’s why we’re soulmates.”</p><p>“Roasted,” I singsong back.</p><p>“It’s cute,” you say defensively. “The crack, I mean.”</p><p>This time I strain myself to turn around and look you fondly in the eye. “You don’t need me for a gay shit barometer, honey. You do that all by your lonesome.”</p><p>“Oh, fuck you,” you whisper over your wheeze of laughter. The movement carries waves of warmth from your skin to mine. I could die from my face splitting open from how wide I’m grinning right now.</p><p>“I assure you that’s on the agenda, love,” I say, with my own signature eyebrow waggle at you. “But first--we need to plan what we’re gonna do today.”</p><p>“What we’re gonna do today?” You give me a fleeting look of bewilderment. “It’s our honeymoon, Kaleb, I’m pretty sure we signed up to just have breakfast in bed and lots of sex.”</p><p>I look at you.</p><p>“A lot of loving, tender, teary-eyed sex,” you amend.</p><p>“Gay,” I say primly. “But yes, God, please, yes to the tender sex.”</p><p>You pull away for a second in favor of hopping onto the counter beside me. You poke the lower end of my bicep with a finger. “So. Plans. What are we planning.”</p><p>“The Planny McPlan--”</p><p>“--Please, I thought the meme died with you centuries ago--”</p><p>I pretend to stare at you in open-mouthed offense. “I will have you know that I am of a <i>ripe</i> age, just past my puberty!”</p><p>“Second puberty.”</p><p>“Second puberty! Goddammit, you beat me to it.”</p><p>You tuck your hands under your chin and bat your lashes. “You’ll never be as fast as me.”</p><p>“I sure hope not,” I shoot back with an overly saucy wink.</p><p>You boop me again in the elbow with a toe. “<i>Plans</i>, please.”</p><p>“Pet shopping was definitely on the list for this week. Maybe just not today,” I muse. “I didn’t want a super strict schedule for later. Just...general airy...ideas? Vague concepts? Of where we’re going?”</p><p>“Great,” you say. “That is wonderful. I hope you don’t drive and navigate with the same specificity that you plan our dates.”</p><p>I end up plating up our breakfast one-handed at that point because my other hand is occupied flipping you the bird.</p><p>“Planetarium,” I grumble. “Is that non-airy and sort of specific enough for you, Mrs. Barrie?”</p><p>You reach out your legs to tap my butt and coax me closer to you until I’m standing between your knees and your feet are interlocked securely behind my waist. You tap your chin for show as I raise a single brow at you in expectation.</p><p>“Hmm,” you say. “<i>Hmm</i>...”</p><p>I catch onto that tone of yours that I would recognize anywhere, and accordingly I lower my voice. “‘Hmm’?” I question softly. “Is that--are my plans not convincing enough?”</p><p>“Hmm,” you say back, just to mock me. Now you lean your forearms with a casual weight on my shoulders that feels like it’s sweet and scorching on my skin at the same time. It takes all my self-control not to rock back on my heels from the sensation. The heady, intoxicating sensation of being around you, even after all these years.</p><p>“Your persuasive speaking skills leave...something...to be desired,” you whisper.</p><p>I bump my nose softly against yours. Our breaths intermingle. “Oh, yeah?”</p><p>“Uh-huh,” you reply. For the first time, you begin to sound just as breathless as you make me feel.</p><p>“Is there something else you’re thinking my...mouth could do, then?” I prompt you.</p><p>You don’t reply. I don’t think either of us was expecting you to, at this point, because the sheer fire in your eyes as you move one hand from behind my neck to trace a path down my cheekbone is enough to distract the both of us. I force myself not to close my eyes at the shiver. And then your other hand is entangled in the short hair at my nape and you’re tugging lightly, lightly, just so, until our noses collide and our eyes are closing and our mouths meet. Neither of us pauses for sweetness or tender nothings, because for all our plans of a gentle time together nothing can stop the burn of freedom and aloneness in us. We kiss like that for seconds and hours, years and instants, you against the cabinets and me pressing you into the counter as if every centimeter of contact between us will never be enough for a lifetime.</p><p>And so our day begins, and the dawn of our life finally together marches on, with the sun winking and streaming through the smudged windows. Slowly, gently at first, but then with flames in our chests and hearts tripping with anticipation--as it always does.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I guess the only thing that needs to be apologized for is the fact that we actually do talk like this with each other. Can't wait to wake up next to you for real and annoy you for the rest of your life, Nayani. Happ 20th birthday and have a freaking bomb time.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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